


San Miguel and the Devil

by PhoenyxNova



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel/Demon Relationship, Angel/Demon Sex, Daddy Kink, Dom Michael (Supernatural), Gabriel pranking Michael, Gabriel pranks from beyond the grave, Grace as lube, Kink Bingo 2019, M/M, Prankster Gabriel (Supernatural), Priest Kink, Rare Pairings, Route 66 - Freeform, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sub Crowley (Supernatural), Supernatural Kink Bingo 2019, Trope Inversion, Trope Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 22:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19859098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenyxNova/pseuds/PhoenyxNova
Summary: As they travel along Route 66, Michael demands they stop at every tourist attraction, but one stands out. In the middle of Santa Fe, Gabriel has left a mysterious gift in a chapel for Michael.





	San Miguel and the Devil

They had been on the road for a few days, stopping to see every tourist trap along the famed Route 66. Michael was particularly excited to see the many roadside attractions America had to offer. Crowley was not. The way he saw it, it was just another way for the humans to distract themselves from the ever looming fear of total obliteration. Whenever he said as much, Michael laughed it off and told him to pull off to the side of the road so they could look at the next historical marker.

They were on the last leg of the trip when Michael started smacking Crowley’s arm excitedly to get his attention. If it had been anyone else, the demon might have been annoyed, but it was Michael. The poor guy had been through enough, and he deserved to feel unbridled joy every once in a while. Perhaps that was why he had acquiesced to every touristy whim of the angel.

“What trap have you found for us this time?” Crowley grumbled. “Don’t tell me it’s the world’s largest ball of twine. “Please tell me it’s not the world’s largest ball of twine.”

“It isn’t,” Michael said through unstifled laughter. Once Crowley had breathed his sigh of relief, he grinned and said a little too jovially, “It’s something better.” Crowley whined and leaned his head against the headrest, trying his damndest not to roll his eyes. Michael grinned a little wider and held up the tour book, pointing at one of the pictures. “It’s the oldest church in the US!”

Crowley whined again, this time louder, and failed in suppressing his eye roll. “Why does it have to be a church?” he asked, settling his eyes back on the road in front of them. “In case it’s escaped your attention, I’m a _demon_ , love. Hell, the last time I was in a church ended very poorly for me.”

Michael chuckled and shook his head. “It hasn’t escaped my attention. You remind me of that fact every chance you get.” He curled up in the passenger side of the ’27 Bentley Crowley was driving and thumbed through the tour book. “It says here: This Spanish Colonial mission church is considered to be the country's oldest church. Built by Tlaxcala Indians between 1610 and 1628 as part of the Barrio de Analca, it was damaged by fire during the Pueblo Revolt of 1680 and partially rebuilt in 1710 following the Spanish reconquest of Santa Fe. The interior is steeped in history, with a late 18th-century altar screen, a carved wooden statue of St. Michael brought from Mexico in 1709 and portions of the original foundations visible beneath the existing floor.”

“Saint Michael?” Crowley scoffed and glanced in Michael’s direction. “I see the appeal now. What’s the place called?”

Michael sheepishly hid behind the book, smirking in amusement. “I don’t think I want to tell you now.” He peeked over the top of the book just in time to see the _most_ incredulous look on Crowley’s face. “It’s … called the San Miguel Chapel.”

“Of course it is.” He couldn’t hold back his smirk as he looked back at the road. “Can’t we go literally _anywhere_ else?” His hand smacked against the steering wheel as he spoke, trying to come up with some excuse – any excuse – for them to skip this particular attraction.

“Anywhere else doesn’t have this kind of history!” Michael offered, fiddling with the pages of his tour book.

“Why would you want to go to a ridiculous old church like that, anyway?”

“Because Gabriel left something there for me.”

The car went quiet, save for the purring of the engine and the rumbling of the tires on the highway. It had been a few months since Gabriel had died, and Michael had scarcely mentioned his younger brother at all in that time. Hearing him do so now was a little sobering to the demon.

Crowley sighed and nodded. “Alright, we’ll go.” He held up his phone and typed in the San Miguel Chapel into his GPS app. “Good news is, we’re almost to Santa Fe.”

“The bad news is?” The angel looked a little apprehensive about asking.

“They’ll still be open for visitors when we get there.”

When they did reach the chapel, there was no one there. The parking lot was completely empty. Crowley looked at Michael with that incredulous look again, but resisted the urge to poke fun at the angel. Michael sheepishly got out of the car and headed toward the door of the church.

The church was an old, adobe construction with two concrete supports on either side of the entrance. Where most churches had ornate crucifixes, this church had a very simple, white cross adorning the bell tower. As much as Crowley hated to admit it, he almost liked this church. It wasn’t arrogant in its décor.

Michael pushed the doors open and stepped inside. It was strange, being in a church practically devoted to him. He didn’t quite know what to do or how to react. He looked at Crowley for support, but the demon was preoccupied looking at the artwork. The Archangel pursed his lips and started glancing around for any artifacts that Gabriel might have left for him.

Crowley wandered the main room, full of pews. It didn’t appear that there were any particularly important relics. The wooden altar screen at the front of San Miguel Chapel, however, was one of the oldest in New Mexico. The inscription on the lower left-hand corner read: ‘This altar was erected through the piety of Don Jose Antonio Ortis in the year 1798.’ Its twisted “Solomonic columns” on either side were thought to be the first examples in New Mexico and were very typical of the Laguna Santero.

In the center of the altar screen was a statue of San Miguel, the patron of San Miguel Chapel. It appeared to have been carved in old Mexico around 1700 and was brought by Franciscan Friars to Santa Fe. Above the statue of San Miguel is a large painting of Christ the Nazarene that dates from the mid-18th century and was rediscovered behind the altar screen by archeologists in 1955. The painting of St. Michael the Archangel above it dated from 1745.

The four oval paintings on the altar screen dated from the early 18th century and originated in Colonial Mexico. The painting at the top left was of St. Teresa of Avila; on the bottom left was St. Francis of Assisi. At the top right was St. Gertrude of Germany; on the bottom right was St. Louis IX, King of France.

To the left and right of the altar were two similar paintings of the Annunciation, both believed to be the work of one of the disciples of Bartolome Esteban Murillo, one of the greatest 17th century Spanish artists, who exerted a large influence on Christian art in the Americas. These two paintings, as well as the four oval paintings, were painstakingly cleaned and artistically restored in 1955

As he turned and face the main doors at the back, the painting on the right on buffalo hide was of Christ on the Cross. The one on the left on deer skin was of St. John the Baptist. These were painted by Franciscan Friars in about 1630 and were used as teaching aids in their work converting the Pueblo Indians to Christianity.

Fourteen lovely Stations of the Cross lined the walls of the Chapel. They were carved by a very talented Mexican artisan named Ramon Rochas in 1956. He spent three months in Santa Fe working on the project.

At the back of the chapel was a showcase which was once a door. Here the very thick walls of the adobe structure were revealed. Above the showcase is a reproduction of Our Lady of Guadalupe, believed to be one of the first copies from Old Mexico.

As he stood in the back of the Chapel facing the altar, above him was a large hand-carved beam supporting the front of the choir loft. The beam had an inscription in Spanish carved on it, which read: ‘El Marques of Penuela had this construction erected by his royal ensign, Agustin Flores Vergada, in the year 1710.’

Michael leaned against the door to the side room, admiring the way Crowley looked around at the church. As Crowley walked back up to the front of the church to examine the statue of Michael, something caught the angel’s eye. He glanced, and saw a small bottle of golden liquid. Next to it was a 400 year old piece of paper with Enochian written on it.

He stepped further into the side room, and Crowley followed. The demon had been keeping an eye on Michael, and it was his turn to lean against the door to the side room. He watched as Michael slowly opened the glass case, opening the bottle and sniffing at it.

“Clove oil?” Michael glanced at the demon, who was smirking and clearly trying not to laugh. He picked up the note and leaned against the glass case. He wondered what this 400 year old bottle of lube was doing in a church.

Then he read the note.

“I always knew you were gay,” he read aloud. He looked up at Crowley, who was simply guffawing. “It’s not that funny!” Michael protested, only for Crowley to laugh harder. “Angels can’t be gay! We don’t have gender!”

“You keep telling yourself that, love,” Crowley teased, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

The longer Michael looked at the note, the more it sank in that Gabriel was truly playing the long game. 400 years for a prank. He hated to admit it, but that was pretty damn funny.

Crowley didn’t want to say anything against Gabriel. It wasn’t polite to speak ill of the dead. However, the fact that the trickster angel had waited four centuries to make Michael drag himself out to what was the Middle of Nowhere, New Mexico for a bottle of what was lube at the time? That was pretty priceless.

He saw the smile forming on Michael’s face and slid an arm around his waist to make him smile a little more. “I wish Gabriel could have been here to see the look on your face,” he said, just softly enough to be respectful. “I think he would have liked to know he made you smile.”

“I think he knows he made me smile,” Michael agreed. He pocketed the note and looked at the bottle of lube. “You know, it would be a shame for this to go to waste,” he purred, leaning in to whisper into Crowley’s ear.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Michael, we’re in a church,” he said. “More than that, we’re in a church devoted to _you_.” He allowed himself to be backed up against the wall, eyes darkening with lust as his gaze met the angel’s. “What will people think?”

“They’ll think, ‘Lucky angel,’” he purred, stooping his head down to kiss at Crowley’s neck. His hand slid up the demon’s thigh and rested on his hip, pulling him closer. “I’m surprised at you, Crowley. I would have thought you would jump at the chance to fuck with some humans.”

“Normally, I would love to. But … church.” Crowley was running out of excuses. Not that he really wanted to say no, of course, but it was the game of cat and mouse he enjoyed. Even when he turned out to be the mouse. He smirked and slid his hand down Michael’s back to rest on his ass.

Michael chuckled and took Crowley’s hand, pinning it above the demon’s head. “Why don’t we take this time to discuss your sins?” He ghosted the tip of his tongue against the warm flesh of Crowley’s neck, his free hand running slowly up the demon’s side, gently untucking the black shirt he wore. As he pressed his hips against Crowley’s, the demon let out a soft groan.

“It’s been 300 years since my last confession,” Crowley breathed, frotting against his lover. “I’ve had many impure thoughts, as of late. You see, there’s this angel…”

“Mmmm, go on,” Michael purred, running his free hand through Crowley’s short, messy brown hair. He sank his teeth carefully into the demon’s neck and started to suck a dark mark into his flesh.

Crowley groaned softly, eyes fluttering shut under the sensation. “… This angel has been on my mind as long as I can remember. The thought of his divine body against mine has gotten me through many a long, lonely night. I admit, I’ve touched myself to such fantasies.” His voice grew huskier and huskier as he went on. “Long, slow strokes, imagining the way he’d take me … in every aspect of the word. The thought of riding him fills me with such an indescribable desire.”

Michael couldn’t help but let out a soft moan as he felt himself straining against the fabric of his pants. Crowley certainly knew how to get him going. His thoughts clouded with lust as the demon continued.

“The things I’ve imagined, the things I want to do to him, the things I want him to do to me … They’re filthy thoughts. Sinful, disgraceful, reprehensible, immoral. I could scarcely imagine saying them aloud in a church.” Crowley frotted against Michael again, his own need growing more evident.

Michael took a shaky breath in, trying to refocus his mind on the situation he’d gotten himself into. “Whatever shall we do with you?” he asked, grin threatening to overtake his face. “Whatever shall we do to absolve you?” He finally let Crowley’s wrist go, choosing instead to unfasten his jeans. Pants undone, he allowed his cock to come bobbing out of the confines of his jeans.

Crowley looked down almost hungrily at the angel’s length and looked back up at Michael, eyes smoldering with desire. He, very slowly, began to sink to his knees. “Forgive me Father, for I am about to sin.”

Michael watched as the entirety of his length disappeared into Crowley’s mouth. The warm wetness, compounded with those words, sent him reeling. He affectionately ran his fingers through the demon’s hair before grabbing a handful and sliding himself deeper into Crowley’s throat. He let out a louder moan and began rocking his hips to gently fuck the demon’s face.

Crowley growled softly and sat back on his heels, absolutely content to let this happen. He had to admit, the way Michael’s cock filled his mouth, the weight of his length on his tongue, it was all delicious. As Michael pulled his hips back, Crowley would hollow his cheeks and suck on his lover.

“Pray for forgiveness,” Michael managed to breathe out, head lolling back as he gave in to the bliss of the situation. Crowley, ever the smart ass, began to mutter a prayer against Michael’s cock. The vibrations drove the angel wild.

Crowley dared to set his hands upon Michael’s hips and sucked a little harder on the angel’s length, careful not to overstimulate him. He pressed his tongue firmly against the underside of Michael’s cock, pulling a pleasured groan from his throat.

“Fuck,” Michael breathed raggedly. “So good, Crowley.” Nothing else in the world mattered to him at this point. The disenfranchised angel was lost in his lover’s mouth, and he couldn’t bring himself to care that they were desecrating a house of God. No, all that mattered was Crowley and the moment they were sharing. His hips rocked a little more needily into the warmth of the demon’s throat, moaning Crowley’s name. Soon enough, his release caught him off guard, hips stuttering as he came into Crowley’s throat.

Crowley swallowed around him, taking in as much of Michael’s cum as he could manage. When he pulled back with a soft ‘pop’ he licked his lips clean, his gaze rising to meet Michael’s. “Am I forgiven?”

Michael had almost forgotten that’s what they were doing. He smirked and lifted Crowley’s chin higher and higher until he was standing. “Not quite yet,” he murmured, lips barely a breath away from Crowley’s.

Crowley felt his breath hitch in his throat, feeling the warmth of the angel against his skin. He desperately wanted to kiss him, but knew better. “My soul is tainted,” he growled, leaning into Michael’s touch as the angel ran a thumb down his cheek. “What must I do to absolve myself?”

With a snap, the two were bare. Michael stooped down and swept Crowley off his feet. “We must purge the evil from your soul,” he said, a soft chuckle in the back of his throat. He carried the demon through the empty church – how the HELL was it still empty? – and laid him down on the altar. He extended his grace in fine tendrils and secured Crowley’s forearms to his thighs, leaving him in quite the vulnerable position.

Crowley had to admit, he kind of liked whatever it was they were doing. Was it a priest kink? A sacrilege kink? He wasn’t sure, but he knew it made him want more. Much, much more.

Michael hauled himself up onto the altar, hovering above Crowley with a smirk. “Are you ready for forgiveness?” He asked, his once-again-hard length pressed against the demon’s tight entrance.

The sensation caused Crowley to moan softly. He wanted to grab Michael’s hips and pull him into himself, but his hands were tied. Quite literally, in fact. All he could do was rock his hips upward in a begging motion. “I am,” he purred, want coloring the tone of his voice.

Michael poured some of the contents of the bottle into his hand to slick his length and pushed himself past the tight ring of muscle. The clove oil worked marvelously well, and even worked to relax Crowley’s hole.

Crowley cried out in bliss, the fullness of Michael’s girth sending electricity up his spine. The stretch he felt was pure ecstasy. He uttered a prayer in Latin to Michael, his voice growing huskier and huskier with every word.

Michael felt his cock throb, hearing the Latin prayer falling from Crowley’s lips. It was a prayer meant for him. A prayer asking for strength in the battle against evil, for protection against the wickedness of the Devil. Hearing that prayer from a demon, especially _his_ demon, was stimulating.

“Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaoli esto praesidium,” Crowley growled, trying to reach for his angel but the grace that bound his hands shortened their give.

The surrounding candles sparked to life, burning brightly to illuminate the space in the setting sun. Michael had adopted a slow rhythmic pace. He felt his knees weaken at the sound of Crowley uttering that prayer. “Don’t stop,” he muttered.

Crowley obliged. “Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur.” He had resigned himself to not being able to touch his lover or himself, but part of him knew he would be rewarded for his patience. He was interrupted in the middle of his prayer by the sound of a door opening. His head snapped up to look at the entrance, at the back of the church, and saw what must have been a tourist staring in horror at them. Crowley’s face contorted in anger, eyes burning red. That seemed to have been enough to terrify the tourist into running away.

Michael barely seemed to notice the interruption. He was far more interested in hearing Crowley finish the prayer than he was in some poor human getting too much of an eyeful. His blue eyes shone brightly in the candlelight, with almost a heavenly glow. In fact, his grace began to seep through his eyes until they burned with a soft glow. His pace had grown quite frantic in his need, but he wasn’t through yet. “More,” he choked out, grabbing hold of Crowley’s cock, stroking it in time with his hips. 

Crowley’s attention returned to his angel lover and let out the most pleasured moan he could have managed. “Tuque, princeps militiae caelestis, Satanuam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum prevaganture in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude.” His voice was beginning to crack from the stimulation. He was about to conclude the prayer, but his voice got stuck in his throat.

Michael finished the prayer for him. “Amen.” He slammed his hips into Crowley one more time, climax washing over him like a wave. His grace burned through his vessel at the eyes, growing brighter and brighter. His hips stuttered as he rode out his release, stroking Crowley to bring him to his edge.

When Crowley came, he cried out Michael’s name to the heavens, as though he wanted the angels to know exactly who it was that brought the King of Hell to his knees. His cry echoed through the adobe structure, reverberating up to the bell tower. Someone _must_ have heard _that_ , if nothing else.

The angel released the grace that bound Crowley and leaned in to kiss him. His lover threw his arms around him and pulled him deeper into the kiss, one hand weaving his fingers through Michael’s black, messy mop of hair. “Does your father know what you’re doing?” the demon teased.

“He would consider what we’re doing an abomination,” Michael muttered against Crowley’s neck. “Sex outside of wedlock. That’s one of the Ten Commandments, right there.” But his tone suggested he couldn’t care less about what his father thought of his activities.

“There’s a way to fix that, you know,” Crowley offered. He lifted Michael’s chin until their eyes met. “We could, in a manner of speaking, sign a certain contract. Mutually beneficial, of course. For better or worse. In sickness and in health. For rich or for poor … ‘til death do us part.”

Michael’s mind was still clouded with lust, and he would have much rather just basked in the afterglow than try to figure out what Crowley was talking about. It _suddenly_ sank in what he was asking, and the angel’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean …”

“Yes,” he replied, “I do… Which, I’ll be honest, is what I’m hoping you’ll say.”

Michael was quiet for a moment, which made Crowley understandably nervous. Really, he was just processing what was happening. That sounded like a proposal. Not just that, it was a proposal in a _church_. A church that Crowley didn’t even want to be in. He hadn’t planned this at all, which meant he must have wanted to pop the question some time, but never had a good time. It was almost too much for the angel to comprehend, but before he could process it fully, the answer came falling out of his mouth. “Of course I do.”

Crowley beamed and brought his angel in for a kiss, wrapping his legs around his lover’s waist. “You’ve just made me the happiest, and luckiest demon in the history of Hell,” he said, lips brushing against Michael’s.

Michael smiled and pulled Crowley’s hips downward so they were more at eye level, grinning from ear to ear. “I love you.”

“Pathetic.” Crowley chuckled, and the two shared another, more loving kiss as the setting sun faded out of view, leaving them in candlelight.


End file.
